


Schutzengel

by RomanTheSkeleton



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann
Genre: Christmas, Inspired by the Nutcracker, M/M, References to The Nutcracker, Yule, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanTheSkeleton/pseuds/RomanTheSkeleton
Summary: Aziraphale has a strange night come Christmas time when he finds the apartment infested with mice and why is everyone acting so strange?I wanted to try a fun little take on The Nutcracker using some of my favorite characters and, of course, the biggest jerk of them all will be my Mouse King, of course. lol
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale laid AJ down in his crib for the night, a fuzzy warmth spreading through his tummy. This was their first Christmas as a family and he felt like he might finally get to relax. Crowley was in the living area, finishing up the Christmas tree by adding the fairy to the top. When she was firmly placed, he plugged in the lights, filling the room with a soft, golden glow.

Aziraphale smiled lovingly at his husband, more than a little amused as the demon stood, staring proudly at his work in his custom Christmas snake pajamas. "What do you think, angel?"

"It looks beautiful, dear," Aziraphale cooed, walking up beside him. "Can you believe it? Our first Christmas together; you, me, and AJ."

The demon grinned at him, the shininess of his eyes apparent in the light of the tree. "I'm so happy."

"Me, too, dear. Me, too."

"Ready for bed, love?" Crowley asked, wrapping an arm around his partner.

"Quite," Aziraphale sighed.

As the two made their way to their room, Aziraphale spotted a decoration he hadn't seen before. A beautifully intricate nutcracker sat on the small table adjacent to the tree. It looked a little like Crowley, if he were a prince, that is. 

"Of course," the angel sniggered, shaking his head.

"You comin'?" Crowley called from the room.

Unsure why, Aziraphale jumped as if he'd been caught doing something illicit. The nutcracker tumbled to the floor, the arm popping off with a clatter. The angel gasped and scooped the lovely doll from the ground.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Aziraphale," he scolded himself.

Glancing around, he found a small, red ribbon on the tree. With delicate care, he tied the ribbon around the arm of the nutcracker, giving the doll a fancy arm wrap that seemed to add to its uniform.

"You coulda just magicked it back on, yeah?" Crowley teased from behind him.

Aziraphale yelped and threw his arms up, helplessly. "Dash! It! All! I'm going to bed."

Crowley giggled helplessly as Aziraphale stormed off, sulkily. "C'mon, angel! It looks nice! You did a good job!"

Still belly-laughing, Crowley fixed the arm but left the ribbon. Aziraphale had worked hard on it, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud thump startled Aziraphale, waking him from sleep. He reached over and shook Crowley, but the demon would not move. With a disgruntled sigh, Aziraphale hopped up to check on AJ.

Wrapping his robe tightly around himself, he walked into the baby's room. AJ slept soundly, seemingly as undisturbedly as his daddy. Aziraphale smiled, stroking a soft red curl from his chubby face.

Something glass shattered in the kitchen, dragging Aziraphale's heart up into his throat. He slipped out of AJ's room and closed the door, unwilling to risk his baby's safety. How was Crowley not hearing this?

Walking silently, Aziraphale inched into the living area, which was lit only by their tree. He could hear odd scratching sounds, but a cursory glance around, however, showed him that the apartment was empty.

"Who's there?" He chanced, trying to sound as masculine as Crowley. Though his voice was certainly deeper, he just didn't have the force that Crowley did. "Show yourself!"

He took a step forward, cautiously, looking for any intruder that may have come inside, but what he wasn't expecting was the agonized squeaked from the floor. He jerked his foot back and tumbled to the ground, seeing, at last, an army of mice scrambling across the floor. To his surprise, they were clothed. No, not just clothed. Armoured.

One whirled on him and, as it approached the small creature seemed to grow larger and larger until they were eye level. Aziraphale scrambled to his feet, backing away from the oversized rodent.

"My word," the angel gasped, "what do you want?"

As the mouse approached, it raised the sword in hand. Aziraphale was about to summon his own when Crowley swooped in, striking the mouse down with a large double-handed blade. The angel sighed with relief.

"Crowley, thank goodness! What is going on?"

The demon turned to him, but something was...wrong. Aziraphale realized, suddenly, that his husband was wearing a white tunic with gold buttons down either side and adorning the sleeves. Gold shoulder pads draped frills down his shoulders, accented by pressed black pants and high boots. His deep red hair was slicked back and neatly cared for. Blue eyes stared at Aziraphale from the familiar, pale face and a dark, red ribbon crossed his chest and wrapped around his arm.

"Are you injured?" Crowley asked.

"Am I...? Crowley, what's happening?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to respond, when a horn sounded. The demon spun on his heels in time to see a mouse far larger than the others. Though it had seven hideous heads, each one wearing a different crown, the one in the middle struck Aziraphale as somewhat familiar. The man who may or may not be the angel's husband turned back to him.

"It is safe here. I shall return."

Aziraphale mumbled the phrase under his breath and watched the Bizarro Crowley run toward the monster, followed by thousands of tin soldiers. The angel felt disoriented, dizzy. What was going on? Where was AJ?

Aziraphale was shaken from his thoughts by Crowley crying out. He looked up to see the mutant mouse had the Not-Crowley pinned down by the other mice. He gasped and looked around for something, anything to distract the monster. Unable to find anything in the house that he now realized was enormous, he pulled off one of his slippers and hurled it at the seven-headed creature. The slipper sailed, bouncing harmlessly off the center head's face.

The beast turned and looked at Aziraphale, snarling, and frothing at the mouth. The angel groaned.

"Mice," the seven heads commanded, "retrieve that creature for me. He must pay for his insolence!"

Releasing Crowley the horde of mice swarmed toward Aziraphale. The angel staggered backward as the army rushed him like a tidal wave of fur and gnashing teeth. Suddenly, he was falling. His foot had caught on water from a broken glass. As he landed, a large shard from the cup, ran up his arm, gashing it open. A wave of nausea spiraled the angel into darkness as he watched certain death approach him.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked dazedly around the room. Everything around him was ornate. The furniture was rich, dark wood carved to look like fairies, the curtains were a dark green velvet to shield some of the sunlight, and the duvet that covered him was a soft, tasteful gold color. 

Every inch of the room was beautifully decorated for Christmas. Golden bells, holly garlands, and shining red baubles hung all around him. A fireplace sat in the middle of the room and it blazed happily with a warm fire. As lovely as everything was, panic sat in for the angel. This wasn't home.

He sat up, suddenly, sending a sharp, biting pain through his arm. He looked down at his arm to see if was bandaged from shoulder to elbow. He remembered, suddenly, that he had cut it when the mice attacked. So, where was he, now?

A knock on the door startled him. "Come in," Aziraphale said, quietly.

The door opened and the Crowley that was not quite Crowley peeked in. "Good morning! How are you feeling?"

To Aziraphale's surprise, the sight of this Impostor was actually quite disheartening. "My arm hurts and I'd rather like to go home, but I'm otherwise unharmed."

"I'm glad to hear it. I wish to thank you for your assistance during the battle. Were it not for you, the Mouse King would have surely captured me."

"'The Mouse King?'" Aziraphale whispered. Realization dawned on him. "So, do I have the honor of being in the presence of the Nutcracker Prince?"

The Crowley lookalike smiled. "That is how I am known, yes, but the honor is mine. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

Aziraphale couldn't believe what the absurdity of it all. He was living The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, and he had no idea why. He laughed, nervously, and shook his head.

"My name is Aziraphale."

"That name is as lovely as you. Please, we have prepared you some clothes befitting someone of your apparent stature. I would love to introduce you to my subjects."

Aziraphale nodded, a tight smile on his face. The prince bowed and withdrew from the room. Aziraphale flopped on the bed and cackled, again, nervously.

"This is a dream, I hope," he sighed. 

Finally forcing himself to stand, he pulled an attractive, sky blue tunic with silver buttons and a V'd coat tail. He slipped on the silver colored breeches that went with it and a pair of attractive, calf-high black boots. 

He brushed through his pale, silken curls and pulled them back into a top bun. Upon inspecting himself, he new that the real Crowley would appreciate his appearance.

"Crowley," he whispered, sadly. He wanted to go home to his family.

Maybe if he figured this out, he'd be able to.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale wandered downstairs, unsure of what awaited him. Approaching the doors to the grand hall, he found them to be made of gingerbread and trimmed in peppermint. The sheer absurdity of it caused him to roll his eyes.

The tin soldiers waiting opened the doors for him as he arrived. He smiled, patiently, and walked inside. 

The grand hall itself was decked to the nines in gay apparel. What wasn't decorated for Christmas was a pastel nightmare of candy. The stained glass windows were beautiful but appeared to be made of sugar. Did it not rain here?

The prince trotted up, forcing Aziraphale into a tight smile. "Good morning, Your Highness. A pleasure to see you, again."

"Quite," the princely doppelganger said, bowing deeply.

Aziraphale bowed back, stiffly. The prince seemed not to notice his discomfort.

"You must be quite peckish. I have prepared a feast in honor of your kindness toward me. Eat as much as you like."

The prince pressed a hand gently to Aziraphale's lower back, herding him toward the grandiose dining table. It was filled to overflowing with foods of every imaginable sort, even some the angel had never seen. His stomach grumbled, irritably, but he wondered if this were a dream or not. If it wasn't, and it was truly a fairy tale situation, eating the food could get him trapped here forever. As bad as his luck had been and as hungry as he was, he chose, for the first time in his 6000 years on earth, to abstain.

"No, uh," he said, regretfully, "I'm quite alright."

"Are you sure we cannot, at the very least, provide you with a drink?" The prince snapped his fingers.

After a moment, a small fairy stomped up. Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin when Beezlebub shoved a cup into his chest.

"The devil are you lookin' at?" They snapped.

Aziraphale giggled, nervously, and shook his head. "No, thank you."

The prince clicked his tongue. "I apologize! The Sugar Plum fairies can be...moody."

Sugar Plum Beezlebub stomped off to receive an earful from another that looked an awful lot like Madam Tracy. Maybe Aziraphale should've just taken the drink. He rubbed his temples, exhausted.

"You look ill, Aziraphale," the prince noted. "Are you well?"

"No, I am not," the angel snapped, a little more harshly than he meant to. "I apologize for my rudeness. I'm just tired and I really want to go home. I think I'll go have another lie-down, shall I? Excuse me."

Without another word to anyone, Aziraphale stood up and rushed back up to his room. He heard the prince call out to him, but he couldn't stand another moment looking at the man who looked like his husband but wasn't. He slammed the door behind him and clicked the lock. He allowed himself to collapse facefirst on the bed, unwilling to face another moment of consciousness for the time being.

Just as he dozed off, he was jerked from the bed and hurled over a shoulder like an old potato sack. Searching for clues to his manhandler, it became clear through the overwhelming stench and the long, hairless tail that trailed behind the monstrous rodent that he was being abducted by a large mouse. He cried out in agitation and slammed his fists on the creature's back.

"Put me down, this instant! Put! Me! DOWN!"

Multiple, blood-curdling voices responded to his demands. "I am afraid I cannot do that. You will be my guest this evening, whether you like it or not."

"Aziraphale, are you well?" The prince called out, pounding on the door. "I heard you shouting."

"Ah," the Mouse King said, his voice full of venomous glee, "just who I was expecting. Ho, Your Highness! I shall be absconding with this young gentleman. If you wish for his safe return, you will surrender to me your kingdom and your life. You have one day to decide."

In a flash, Aziraphale was looking up into the cold night sky and the ledge of his window. As they disappeared into the trees, he heard the door to his bedroom smash in.


	5. Chapter 5

The Mouse King slammed Aziraphale into a hard chair in a dark, drafty room in the rodent's castle. His arm throbbed, angrily, threatening infection. Two of the beast's smaller soldiers bound the angel's hands to the splintery arms of the disgusting seat. He tried not to move too much as the wood pressed against his delicate flesh.

The castle was dreary, built of dark brick and lit with little light. One solitary hearth sat in the room and burnt down to embers. The Mouse King paced before it, all seven heads whispering to one another.

"Listen here," Aziraphale said, tired of all the madness, "I don't know what made you think kidnapping me was the correct choice, but you need to release me this instant! I've had quite enough of this 'damsel in distress' foolishness I keep finding myself in, and I'm not at all interested in your war with the prince. Now, I'd very much like to go home, so if you would be so kind as t-!"

In a flash of fur and glowing eyes, the Mouse King was nose to nose with the startled angel. Aziraphale felt his words die on his lips under the fiery glare and stinking breath of the enraged monster.

"You talk far too much. Now, hold your tongue before I yank it from between your pretty lips," the heads snarled in unison.

As the mouse's jowls curled back from his jagged, yellowed incisors, the hate that the beast expressed became all too familiar. The human features of the central face belonged to none other than Gabriel. Aziraphale's heart sank into his stomach. This had to be a nightmare, at least he hoped it was.

Feeling that he had sufficiently traumatized his captive, the Mouse King finally pulled away from a trembling Aziraphale. All seven heads sneered, the smile creeping across their faces like enormous centipedes, flashing sharp, dangerous rodential teeth.

"I see we have an understanding," all seven cooed, their tone a poisonous honey. The Mouse King twirled his claws into a golden curl that had fallen loose from Aziraphale's bun. "It would be a shame for something untoward to befall you, yes?"

Aziraphale held his breath, his lungs starting to burn. "Not again," he thought. "Please not again."

He could feel the rodent's eyes boring into him. Just as he felt he might collapse, a horn peeled out through the darkness, drawing the monster's attention. Aziraphale finally took a breath, allowing his body precious oxygen.

"Mice, to arms!" The heads commanded. The beast turned back to Aziraphale. "Your prince has come for you, as predicted."

The angel opened his mouth to protest then thought better of it. Keeping his head low seemed best. He didn't care about the prince, no matter what he looked like, or their conflict. He wanted Crowley. He wanted AJ. 

"Am I being punished?" He muttered.

"My Lord," a mouse cried out, running into the room, "they've brought the angel!"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. What on earth could that mean? The Mouse King snarled, whirling on Aziraphale again. Tearing away the ropes, he jerked the angel from the chair, sinking filthy claws into his wound. Aziraphale cried out.

"You are coming with me," the Mouse King said.

He dragged Aziraphale mercilessly up a flight of stairs, the creature's talons digging deeper and deeper into the gash. Aziraphale beat on the monster's fist.

"Let go, you brute! LET GO!"

The Mouse King burst out onto the roof, pulling the angel behind him. Snow had begun to fall, bringing with it a bitter wind. Aziraphale could see for miles. An army of gingerbread men and tin soldiers were marching on the Mouse King's castle.

The giant rodent pushed Aziraphale, knocking him to the ground. The angel grabbed his arm, watching deep crimson seep through the silver velvet of his tunic. He looked up at his captor, frustration, and exhaustion his only emotions.

"Why are you doing this to me? Do you hate me so much?"

The Mouse King looked down on him, a grimace stretching across his many faces. "You believe this to be personal, sweet creature? This has little to do with you. You are simply a means to an end."

"That's how it's always been for you, hasn't it? That's why you're so cruel to me, why you hurt me. I outrank you, but you view me as weaker so you punish me for it. You believe that by stepping on me, you'll be better, stronger. Well, how did that work out for you, Gabriel?!"

Visible confusion crossed the monster's faces. "What is this madness? Who-?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Aziraphale said, dragging himself off the ground. "I have no idea what's going on in this crazy place or what's gotten into everyone but I'm sure it originates with you and I've had enough. I'm done being haunted by you. I'm done being..." Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I'm done. I'm finally happy and my baby's first Christmas will not be ruined because I'm in some holly jolly hell with you!"

Aziraphale looked out over the armies. "That goes for the lot of you!"

Footfalls signaled the arrival of the prince. "Aziraphale! I have come for you! Everything will be fin-!"

The prince paused and glanced at the tense moment he had wandered into. "Am I...interrupting?"

"No, dear," Aziraphale said, smiling tightly, "you're just in time! I was just informing everyone that I was tired of these shenanigans and that I was leaving. Right? Tickety boo."

Aziraphale nodded, tersely, and headed for the stairs. As he made his way to leave, the Mouse King roared.

"I will teach you to humiliate me!"

A massive claw lashed out, grabbing the angel by his shoulder. With one unforgiving pull, the Mouse King launched Aziraphale off the tower of the castle. He tried to open his wings and laughed mirthlessly when he found they didn't seem to work in this world. He closed his eyes tight as the wind whistled against his ears, blocking out the screams of the people below.


	6. Chapter 6

Hands caught him roughly, easing him to the ground. A cheer rose up from the prince's battalion. Aziraphale opened his eyes to see Anathema, glowing from head to toe, with glorious pearlescent wings.

"You are injured, Aziraphale," she said, concern written on her face.

At the mention of his name, his heart fluttered. "Do you recognize me, Anathema?"

She smiled, her pity obvious. "The prince has spoken much about you. Do I remind you of this 'Anathema'?"

A man pushed his way through the soldiers. Though well-groomed and cleanly dressed in a dark green tunic much like the princes, the man looked identical to Sergeant Shadwell. Aziraphale knew better than to get his hopes up at this point.

"Herr Drosselmeyer," Angel Anathema said, softly, "Aziraphale is injured. Can you tend him?"

"But of course, Drusilla!" Drosselmeyer said. The calm, gentle tone with which he spoke from Shadwell's mouth was jarring to Aziraphale. He'd have given his right arm to be called a pansy.

Drosselmeyer pulled out a pair of ornate, silver swan scissors and cut away his sleeve. "My word!"

The older man removed the dark red bandage and examined the popped stitching. Aziraphale hadn't even known they'd patched him up that much.

"I can't say this will be pleasant, young man, but I will have to repair the sutures," Drosselmeyer said, matter-of-factly.

Hearing himself referred to as "young man" by someone likely thousands of years younger than him was amusing, but he was in too much pain to ponder on it. "I shall endure."

Having his wound restitched was a horrendous task, sending him into a whirlpool of nausea. He nearly blacked out once or twice, but it wasn't the worst pain he had been through in the last year. When Drosselmeyer finally finished, he bound Aziraphale's arm in a new, pristine bandage.

"There we are! Good as new. Good show, young man. You did well. Now, how about you take a rest in my nephew's tent, hmm?"

Aziraphale was lead into a lavish tent and assisted onto a cot covered in silken pillows. As nice as it all was, he felt quite foolish. He supposed it was better in here than in there with the mice. He had never really had a head for battle. The flaming sword was a last resort, most of the time.

"I really am soft," he chuckled, miserably.

"Aziraphale," a voice called.

Was it one or several? He sat up and looked around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Aziraphale!"

It was several. Where were they coming from? Outside the battle raged. Mice tore gingerbread men to shreds, while tin soldiers hacked mice to ribbons. Blood rusted metal and turned cookie crumbs into sloppy mush. The angel backed away from the opening, wondering how something out of an age-old Christmas fairy tale could be so dark.

Cloth ripped behind him. He spun around to see seven sneering heads tear the back of the tent wide open. The Mouse King mauled his way inside.

"Aziraphale," the Mouse King's heads sang, mockingly.

He moved toward the tents opening. "What?! What, now?! What could you possibly want?!"

"The prince will not surrender as long as you are safe. Do as I say and no harm shall befall you."

"No," Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. "You don't get to do this, anymore."

"Do not be foolish, little one. I have no desire to harm you."

"Then leave me alone!"

"It is not that simple." The Mouse King lunged forward, knocking over a lamp. The glass shattered, igniting the torn fabric of the tent.

Aziraphale jumped, falling to the ground. He tried to summon his sword, but like his wings, it wouldn't appear. "What is wrong with this place?"

He looked up to see that the tent was ablaze and the Mouse King has blocked off the only other exit. He looked around, desperately, for something to protect himself with as the beast lunged, again.

Aziraphale rolled, his arm hitting a small blaze. He screamed, scrambling backward. His back bumped into a large, wicker basket, spilling the contents. A sword slid out near his hand, giving him an idea; if he couldn't summon his sword, he'd make one!

The angel scooped up the sword, dousing the blade in the remaining oil from the lamp. He shoved the blade into the flames, pleased with himself as it ignited. The heat was immense, but he only needed it for a moment. He heard the Mouse King charging and turned to swing the blade.

The Mouse King, keenly aware of Aziraphale's every move, swatted the angel across the tent. He cried out, dropping his homemade flaming sword. The monstrous rodent cackled.

"Very clever, my beauty. Very clever. However, it is clear you are no warrior," the Mouse King leaned down, face to face with Aziraphale. "The weak must accept their fate."

As the beast reached for the angel, the flame-covered blade burst out of the creature's hairy chest. The startled monster began to yowl. He staggered backward, trying frantically to pull the blade out from his back, unable to reach the hilt due to his horrific heads. The prince pulled Aziraphale to his feet and the two fled the tent as it collapsed on the howling Mouse King.

Safe at last, the Nutcracker Prince looked at Aziraphale, an enormous smile on his face. "A flaming sword? That was ingenious! Were it not for you, I would not have defeated him!"

Aziraphale shook his head. "No, that's not true."

"It is," the prince said, grabbing the angel gently by the shoulders. "Stay with me. Rule with me. I need you, Aziraphale. You are an angel."

Aziraphale pulled away from him. "No! I told you, already. I have a family."

The prince looked devastated. "What can they give you that I cannot?"

The prince took a step forward, his hands outstretched. Aziraphale withdrew.

"Love. I love them and I want to go home."

"Aziraphale," the prince walked toward him, pleadingly.

"Stay back, please," Aziraphale begged, walking away from him.

As the angel pulled away from the prince with Crowley's stolen face, he stepped in a hole on the ground. His ankle gave way, sending him tumbling to the ground. Pondering his clumsiness was the last thing he remembered.


	7. Chapter 7

"Angel," the voice called from miles away. It was a good voice.

Everything hurt; his arm, his head, his backside. Why was everything so dark? Was that a baby crying? So much was going through Aziraphale's mind in this strange, dark purgatory he found himself in.

"Aziraphale, for Satan's sake, baby! Wake up!"

He had never been called "baby" before. He rather liked it. He didn't like how scared the voice sounded, though. He wondered why it sounded so worried.

"Put this on his forehead," a different voice said. It sounded just as worried.

Something warm and damp was on his face, now. It felt nice. It made his fuzzy brain hurt less.

"Why isn't he waking up?" The voice was crying, now. Aziraphale really didn't like that.

Maybe if he talked they'd all feel better. Maybe he should try? Now, who did the voice belong to, again? He searched the cobwebs and fields of red, throbbing pain to remember who was talking. He knew the answer, but there was so much going on. It started with a "C". He could remember that. Chester? No. Carl? Definitely not. Cidney? That's just absurd! 

All at once, it hit him. The name of the person talking was-

"Crowley?" Aziraphale groaned.

Crowley laughed and cried, simultaneously, gently dabbing the angel's face with the warm cloth. "Thank Satan, you're awake! You scared the hell out of me!"

"Good," Aziraphale said, smirking droopily.

As the angel's eyes came into focus he saw Anathema and Newt, as well as Tracy and Shadwell leaning over him. Madam Tracy was trying to soothe a hysterical AJ. Aziraphale, seeing his baby crying, tried to sit up. Crowley eased him back down.

"Calm down, angel. Our boy's fine. I'm more worried about you. You've scrambled your brains on me."

"I have to say, Mr. Fell," Madam Tracy said, pursing her lips, "a concussed angel is a new one for me."

"I have a concussion?" Aziraphale asked, blearily.

"Only you, Zira," Anathema chuckled, bouncing her little one on her hip.

"How did I-?"

Crowley shook his head. "You slipped in some water and bumped your head. Got a nasty cut, too. I took care of that, already, though."

"What about the mice?" Aziraphale asked, suddenly, the horrible memories of his ordeal rushing back.

"'Mouse'," Shadwell grunted.

"Beg pardon?"

Shadwell held up a small, riggling grey mouse by the tail. It was frightened and very much alive. Handing AJ to Newt, Tracy gently took it from Shadwell's fingers.

"Let's not torment it, shall we, love?"

She slipped out the front door to turn it loose outside. Aziraphale looked at Shadwell, more than a little terrified.

"Are you sure there's only one?"

"Ye doubt muh huntin' abilities, Pansy?" Shadwell raised a bushy eyebrow.

A strange sense of relief washed over the angel. "You know, Sergeant Shadwell. No, I don't. I'm quite confident in your skills."

"Oh," Shadwell said, a little taken aback. "Well, good."

Crowley pulled Aziraphale from the floor and moved him to the couch. "Why were you so worried about mice, angel?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "It's nothing. Just happy to be home."

Crowley looked at Anathema. "Should we take him to a hospital?"

The angel laughed, unable to contain his relief. Crowley looking concerned only made him laugh harder. "I'm fine. Just had a nightmare while I was out."

"You are worrying me," Crowley said, his eyes narrowing. 

Aziraphale jumped up and kissed the demon passionately. "Don't ever change."

"I think you need a proper lie-down, yeah?"

"Yes, thank you," Aziraphale said, smiling.

Crowley scooped Aziraphale up in his arms. The angel smiled and snuggled into him. This was the Crowley he knew. As they passed by AJ, he kissed his baby on the forehead, enjoying the sweet baby scent.

"Good night, my sweet boy," Aziraphale whispered, as Crowley carried him on to the bedroom.

Crowley laid him down in the bed, caressing his hair. "Are you sure you're alright, angel?"

"Better, now. I love you, Crowley."

The demon smiled. "I love you, too."

"By the way, I do rather like the 'baby' thing. You should do that more often."

Crowley laughed and kissed Aziraphale. "I'll see what I can do."

"Tickety boo," the angel said, smiling.

Aziraphale drifted off while Crowley caressed his face. He couldn't wait for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just meant to be a short holiday story that touches on The Nutcracker and focuses mainly on Aziraphale. I'm kind of liking building up my sweet muffin after his run-in with the ineffable douchebag. Of course, any reason to abuse Gabriel brings me joy. lol! I do also like getting to write mushy moments between my favorite dumbasses. I want to keep writing about my little version of the Ineffable Family because I love them so much! I hope you guys are liking these.


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